


Alone/Together

by quicksilver_nightsky



Series: Prince, Shield, Chamberlain and Delicium [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Exes, M/M, Pining, World of Ruin, canonically disabled character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-21 15:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksilver_nightsky/pseuds/quicksilver_nightsky
Summary: Ignis learns to survive alone in the dark. Because without his king to serve, he is completely and deservingly alone.(Despite Gladio’s implications otherwise)





	1. Chapter 1

Gladio had always been a terrible driver, in Ignis’s opinion. He was too eager with the excelerator, too abrupt with the steering wheel, too delayed with the breaks. The experience was only infinitely more frightening when he could only feel the momentum, not see where they were going and how safe they truly were. But he didn’t lecture. What would be the point?

His own failures had led to this. His inability to protect Noct, to teach him enough, to reach him in time — they had led to his new handicap. He, who had ever relied on his clarity of vision, his ability to assess something at a mere look and strategise accordingly. It was a fitting irony that now he would never see again. 

He may have let the others believe it was a case of waiting to see if his vision recovered — but every iota of his body knew that he would never heal in that way. Ravus had worn the ring and it had destroyed his sword arm — what he had valued most. The Kings of Lucis were cruel and accurate. 

He understood with a calm resolution, that Noct had never been in any real danger from Chancellor Izunia. The man’s plans, whatever they were, had involved getting Noctis to the ring and the crystal. Not to let him get washed away by the tide as he had threatened. 

(Not that Ignis was entirely sure about his humanity, either.)

“We’re turning into the tunnel now. We’ll be at Lestallum soon.”

He could sense Gladio’s eyes on him and gave a slight nod to demonstrate that he had heard and understood. 

The Shield gave a heavy sigh that Ignis had not the willpower to interpret, and they resumed their silence. 

Pryna had granted him a vision of the future, and even that vision had failed him as well. He had been unable to prevent Noct from being consumed, and knew with a sickening clarity that he would be unable to prevent the vision either. 

The car eased to a stop and Gladio turned the key in the ignition port to quiet the engine. They sat silently for a long moment. Neither moving to leave the car’s interior and the imaginary protection it provided from the truth, the future, the outside world. 

“Iggy?” 

“Yes, Gladio?” 

There was an awkward silence between them. Then Gladio sighed again. “Come on. Iris managed to claim an apartment before the place got flooded with refugees. She’s saved us a room.”

A singular room. Things would be in close proximity, it seemed, with an entire country trying to crowd around the one beacon of light they had left. 

He nodded. “It’s very kind of her,” he managed out. He didn’t know the social protocols here. “Shall we?”

Gladio’s eyes were intense on him. Ignis wished he could look at him, just a brief glance, so he could read his face — those expressive eyes. But he couldn’t. He was in the dark. 

Then the Shield (former Shield?) sighed and opened the car door. “Yeah.”

Ignis eased the door handle up and swung his legs out. The car they had...appropriated in Caem was much too small for men of their stature. It was almost bliss to stand up, feel his legs properly stretch. 

He startled when he felt a warm hand at his lower back, and bit his lip to feel a physical pain that could overwhelm the emotional. It had been Prompto to touch him gently, guide him over rough terrain, when he was still recovering. Sweet, kind Prompto. A breath of sunshine in the darkness. But the Delicium, the third of their retinue, had been snatched away along with the crystal. By the monster who had torn up everything good in their lives. 

“Did I scare you?” Gladio asked, concerned. 

“No. Merely surprised me. I didn’t hear you get so close.” An oversight. He’d been too consumed by his thoughts. They could’ve been attacked and he would’ve been less helpful than his usual state of ineptitude. 

“They’ve boarded up some of the entrances,” Gladio explained. “This way.” His hand gave a slight push — no more than a nudge, really. 

But the move had his temper broiling. “No need to _push_ , Gladio,” he snapped coolly. “I may be handicapped, but I am not as incompetent as you delight in considering me.”

“I don’t…” Gladio trailed off, sounding a little lost. “I never called you incompetent.”

“You didn’t need to,” he answered, using his cane to ensure the path was clear as he walked up the ramp of the car park. “You were more than clear about it in Cartanica.”

“Iggy, I didn’t…” He trailed off. “Okay, I did mean it. But I don’t think that now. I’ve seen you hold your own. You’ve had my back.”

He gave a low hum, and continued to walk ahead. Instead of guiding him, Gladio murmured hints of directions. It grated less than than being pushed and pulled about by him. 

  


Sharing a room with Gladio was not uncomfortable precisely. He’d lived in much closer proximity with him, and two others besides. But it was different now. Noct had always been their primary focus, and Prompto’s natural charm had caught whatever attention they had left to spare. Without them to buffer, Ignis was every moment aware of the — fiercely necessary — distance between them. Not physically; Gladio was always a tactile person, and it only seemed increased since Ignis had lost his eyesight. (Lost. He hated that phrase. Like he’d simply misplaced it.)

But no. As deceptively easy as their working relationship had been, their friendship was lacking. Ignis had known this, and understood besides that it was entirely his fault. But in the dark, in the world of darkness without their prince, it was ever so much more obvious. 

He wished fiercely they had Noctis back. That they had Prompto here beside them. But if wishes were chocobos, beggars would ride. 

Silence lived between them like a sentient being, feeding off Ignis’s shame, Gladio’s discomfort. This was a man he had fucked and ruined. The only person who had laid claim to his heart, as the romantic poetry said. Had he ever thought he might have toiled for a forgiveness he did not deserve with their years of camaraderie, he knew that to be false now. Gladio was distant. 

It was no surprise to Ignis when he left. 

“Holly needs boots on the ground,” Gladio was explaining to an angry Iris. “Good men out there, armed and capable, who can find shards and clear paths back and forth. I can’t sit around here and wait for him to come back. I need to be out there.”

Ignis understood the sentiment. If he weren’t incapable of holding his own, let alone watching the backs of his teammates, he would be going out with Gladio to help protect their new world. But as much as he had insisted at Cartanica, as well as he had managed in Zegnautus, he understood that this world was too dangerous to throw daggers in the dark. There were only finite curatives, and there would be no friendly touch to his shoulder as his health failed to bring him back from the brink. No Noct warping across the field, or Prompto running over with a bright _I got you, buddy_! 

Iris didn’t remain long after Gladio left. Her brother was a fool if he thought she would sit by and let the world fall apart. She was as much of an Amicitia as he was, Shield blood through and through. She ruthlessly pursued Cor across the wilderness until she convinced him to train her, and then together they would come to build a task force of hunters and Crownsguard who fought back against the daemons. 

Talcott, too old for his age, followed her out when Hammerhead was made a proper base. He asked Ignis to come with him, but he calmly resisted. “It is not my place.”

But was his place in Lestallum either?

He gave up the apartment to a family of seven who needed the space. Quietly moved into the cramped attic space of a building on the outskirts of town. He packed as many of Gladio’s things as he could feel — and when Holly came to look in she confirmed it was only the furniture left. 

The attic space was only six steps from the hatch to his bed. He hung his clothes from a rope strung across support beams. The bathroom was ten steps from the base of his ladder, and was unofficially his between the precious hours of four and six am. (What had once been _morning_.) The kitchen always stunk of over cooked, under seasoned, low quality ingredients. He stayed long enough to prepare his toast or open a tin of soup, and left it otherwise alone. 

  


Gladio returned while he was still familiarising himself with the scope of his building. He was counting the stairs between the fifth and top floor when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. He reacted with instinct, daggers in his hands before he caught breath, turning to slash towards the body. 

In the bare seconds between the movement, the body jerked back to avoid the blow, and his foot slid off the thin tread of the stair. He landed painfully on his rear as a familiar voice reached his ear: “whoa! Shit, Iggy, it’s just me!”

“One can’t be too careful,” he commented, trying to preserve whatever was left of his dignity. And he’d lost count too. Bloody brilliant. 

“You’re damn right. You might catch an old friend on the stairs and nearly get your tit sliced off.”

He ignored the crude image and used the banister to pull himself to his feet. There was a sharp throb of pain up from his ankle, but he ignored it. “It’s been some time.”

He _had_ meant it had been awhile since he’d fought, but Gladio’s response showed he’d taken it differently. 

He gave a sigh, and there was the sound of hands running through messy hair. “Yeah. World’s gone to shit out there, Iggy. Just when I think I’m done, get another call out from Monica or Cor or fucking Iris.” He sounded angry: “what were you thinking, letting her go out there like that?”

He coolly raised his eyebrow in the direction of Gladio’s voice. “Even if I had been aware that it was my responsibility to take care of your sister,” he answered flatly, “you overestimate my ability to get Amicitias to do anything else once they have made up their minds.”

Gladio just grunted. “Took me ages to track you down,” he said. “You got rid of the apartment.”

“It seemed selfishly decadent to keep a place of such size and amenities to myself when I was quite alone.” He turned and started back up the stairs. “But I packed up your things. No need to sulk.” It was after all the only perceivable reason Gladio had come to see him — to collect his things. 

“You’re hurt.”

“My ankle,” was all he offered in return. 

“Let me look at it,” Gladio demanded, and Ignis could feel the heat of his body crowding his back. 

“There’s no need,” he answered calmly. “A twist, I should think. A sprain at most, but I doubt it is even that severe. It’s not impeding my movement beyond a little pain.”

Gladio grunted — though Ignis suspected that would not be the end of the discussion. 

Silently, once he reached the top of the staircase, he counted his steps. Eight forward, and then he reached his hand upward for the rope. “Watch your head,” he remarked calmly, and began to lower the ladder. Once it was lowered into place, he came back around to ascend. 

Hm. Unpleasant. He would add climbing a ladder with a twisted ankle to his list of things to avoid in future. Along with further awkward meetings with Gladiolus and walking around the building without shoes on. (He supposed other people would have _seen_ the broken glass and been able to avoid it.)

Once he was settled on the boards of his home, he turned to call down. “Shall I pass you down your things?”

The only response to that was the groan of the ladder as Gladio’s considerable mass stepped on to it. A ‘no’ then. 

Silently he crossed to his bed and lowered himself onto it, unlacing his shoes and easing them off — gingerly for his injured ankle. 

“Damnit Iggy, where’s the light switch?” Gladio cursed, his weight settling onto the floor. 

He just raised his face with its dead-eyed gaze in his direction and waited for him to realise. 

“Oh.”

There it was. 

The Shield moved about — Ignis heard the ladder begin to pull itself back up so the hatch closed. Then there was the snick of a rope-pull light switch being turned on, and the high pitched hum of electricity. “Hm.” He hadn’t even known there was a light. He had entirely no use for it. 

“You can sort through the boxes if you like. I packed away everything, but I’m sure you’ll want to check if there’s anything worth keeping.”

But Gladio didn’t move to do that. He came to kneel on the ground in front of Ignis and picked up his injured leg. The former Chamberlain grunted in irritation but said nothing. He’d already said this was unnecessary, there was no point being ignored a second time. 

It was rare to be assessed for injuries — particularly by Gladio. Usually it was just the crush of a curative, and on with their days. Not in these troubled times. Ignis was somehow surprised to learn how gentle his touch was. 

It reminded him, painfully, like a dagger to the sternum, of a time when Gladio had been ever so tender with him. When he’d been someone worth treasuring — or, more precisely, Gladio had been fooled into thinking he was. 

“Flex your toes,” he murmured quietly. 

With a roll of his eyes, he instead moved his foot through the full range of motion — ignoring the bursts of pain at certain movements. “Well, Doctor? Am I going to live?” He deadpanned. 

Gladio sighed in frustration — at him generally, or just his sarcasm in that moment, he couldn’t fathom. But he _could_ guess it was the former. “It’s a little swollen, and it’s starting to bruise. But it ain’t too bad. Keep it elevated and stay off your feet.”

“I wish you had told me that before I assembled all my friends and loved ones,” he replied, gesturing lackadaisically to an empty corner of the attic. 

There was an odd silence, as Gladio remained kneeling at his feet. “Ignis,” he said quietly, “are you okay?”

“I believe you just assessed that, Gladio,” he answered, being purposefully obtuse. He turned so he was lying on the bed, crossing his injured ankle over the other so it was raised as instructed. 

“No, I mean… in the head.”

His only answer was a single raised eyebrow. 

“Look… it’s just, I’ve never seen you this scruffy before,” Gladio answered carefully. “And you’re acting…”

Self-conscious, Ignis reached up to brush his fingers first over the missing buttons at the neck of his shirt, and then across the wild mess of his facial hair. “I couldn’t find the buttons,” he confessed, wishing he couldn’t hear the grief in his own voice. “And after the eighth cut in my attempt at shaving, I gave up the cause. What use is there in taking pride in my appearance? I cannot see it, and I am _alone_.”

“Why didn’t you go with Talcott?” Gladio asked, a little aggression in his voice. The sound of it was familiar. 

“I thought it best to remain out of the way,” he answered smoothly. “As genuine as the invitation was, I have nothing to contribute to their operation. I would rather not waste the resources.”

“It ain’t about you having something to contribute — which is bullshit, by the way! You’re still the best damn strategist on the continent, blind or not.”

“If Lady Iris and the Marshall had need of that, I am still a mere phonecall away.”

Gladio sighed in frustration, and the sound — he assumed was a hand raking through outgrown hair. “I don’t want you to be stuck here, _alone_!”

Ignis gave a low, bitter laugh. “Ah, Gladiolus,” he said, allowing the full name from his lips. The name that reminded him of afternoons held in muscular arms, stealing kisses from a smooth-faced love. “I am alone, and shall always be. There’s naught but heartache to be gained from pretending otherwise.”

Gladio gave a quiet yell of frustration, more growl than shout. “I’m too goddamn exhausted to have this conversation with you, Iggy. But it sure as hell ain’t over!”

He gestured towards the pile of boxes tucked against the far wall. “Your clothes are in the topmost box. If you left pyjamas, they ought to be in there.”

He didn’t realise himself that it was an invitation until he heard Gladio undressing. Feeling his face heat, he turned on his side and tucked as close to the wall as he could. 

A silent invitation: the bed was nowhere close to being adequate for two fully grown men — let alone one of them being Gladio’s stature. He could not relegate Gladio to sleep on the floor; but similarly he refused to do the same to himself in his own home. At least, not when he was instructed to stay off his feet by the man himself. So he left the invitation open. Let the decision belong to Gladio. It was _his_ comfort that should dictate the matter anyway. 

There was a single moment’s falter in the Shield’s step, but then his gait was sure as he crossed to the bed. The ancient springs of his mattress groaned at the additional weight — and Gladio made one to match. 

“Can’t even remember the last time I slept in an actual bed,” he groused. 

“Best enjoy it while you have the opportunity then,” Ignis commented dryly. 

A grunt of acknowledgement was the only reply he received. The Shield must not have been exaggerating about his exhaustion. Even in a new location whose safety he hadn’t assured, and cramped up in a bed with someone he disliked a breath away from him, he was asleep in moments. 

His snores were a comforting familiarity. One room away (in the days at the Citadel he hadn’t spent warming someone else’s bed), or confined in a tent with two others, or in the bed beside him with Noct and Prompto in the other. It had not been this close in a half-dozen years. 

He granted himself permission for one night of weakness. Reassured that Gladio was deeply asleep enough the movement wouldn’t stir him, he pressed back until he was enclosed in the curve that warm, strong torso. He had to hold his breath as Gladio stirred — but allowed it to resume when Gladio merely wrapped an arm around his torso and cast one leg over his. 

Feeling seven kinds of fool, Ignis shifted more comfortably into the embrace and let himself join Gladio in slumber. 


	2. Hand Over

There was much said about Ignis around the Citadel — less than a year ago. (It felt like an entire age ago now. It was a life that he could never return to.) They called him a robot. But he was not. 

He was human. A man with his own failures, and needs that could not always be ignored. Amongst the increasing list of his failures was one that caused him a considerable amount of grief, every time it arose again. 

It cursed him again that morning. 

He dreamed of Gladio. As he remembered him: unbearably handsome; rugged with battle scars he had earned in loyalty and service; a body that encapsulated the perfect specimen of masculine strength; fierce passion in every line of his body; and the kind, soft eyes the colour of amber. But he dreamed of him in ways he’d never had, in ways that he could never deserve. 

It started with a moment that had occurred in reality:

_It was the first evening after the news of the fall. They were at camp near the prairie outpost. They were to meet Cor in the morning, at the royal tomb. Ignis suspected he knew what for: the power of the kings. The prince — or was he their king now? — was secure in the tent with Prompto attempting to… distract or soothe him, Ignis wasn’t aware of the particulars._

_Gladio was busy on the phone with the Lady Iris, and Ignis had taken that opportunity to remove himself from camp. (Close enough to the haven that he was not at risk from a daemon attack, but distant enough for his privacy.) He needed to be strong for Noctis. Stalwart. If the prince could rely on anything, it was Ignis to be calm and stalwart. But he was not the automaton he was perceived to be amongst his peers at the Citadel. He felt. And he had just lost the only two father figures he had known since he was four years old._

_He sat himself down on the rock beside the elementary crystals and let himself weep. There was no word from his uncle, and the death of King Regis was confirmed. Nearly every person he had ever known was dead. All he had left was his prince who had to guide to become king years before his time; Prompto, who could not be serious for the life of him; and Gladiolus. (The less said about their relationship the better.)_

_He sobbed, grief racking his entire body like a physical force. How could he manage to go on? He knew he had to, there was simply no other option. But in that moment he knew not _how_._

_“Ignis?”_

_He jolted up. He wished it had been anyone else. Even Noct seeing him at his moment of weakness would have been preferable._

_He pretended to be adjusting his glasses, made sure his voice was even and calm. “Gladio. Was there something I can assist you with?”_

_“...Igs.”_

_No. That hurt. The old name, in such a soft, empathetic tone. It shattered what little façade he had managed to cobble together. He folded forward and sobbed. “Don’t… don’t…”_

_Gladio sat beside him, and lifted him up to settle him into his lap. Ignis struggled a little, but as muscular arms enclosed him, held him still, he gave up. He slumped into the embrace and gave himself over to his sobs._

_“Let it out, Iggy. Let yourself feel it. You’ll feel better afterward.”_

The truth of that history was that Ignis had fallen asleep in Gladio’s arms, like a pathetic child — and woken up in the tent with his face clean and his spectacles folded safely inside their sturdy case. 

But in the land of nod, truth was set aside in favour of fantasy. 

As he slept with Gladiolus tucked up behind him, in the tiny bed of the attic, he dreamed instead that Gladio laid him back against the stone of the haven and fucked him until they both forgot everything. 

He woke on the edge of pleasure. He wished he could have climaxed in his slumber. Then it would have been involuntary, and he wouldn’t have had to face his own shame. But he woke every morning at 4am, without fail. He needn’t even check his phone to give him the time. 

He managed to work himself out of Gladio’s sleeping grip, cursing as he tripped over his own shoes. At least it didn’t agitate his ankle. He grabbed fresh clothes from his makeshift closet, lowered the ladder and descended to the lower floor. Ten steps and he reached the bathroom. There was a rather large notch out of the door from rot damage, it made him glad he had the early morning when nobody else was awake to walk by. Especially that morning. 

He adjusted the water to a warm temperature — usually he showered cold to save resources, but today it wouldn’t do. He slipped in and pulled the shower curtain closed. He washed himself clean first, then shifted his hand down to cup his turgescent member. 

He never tended to himself with care — least of all in the hell he lived in now. But the lack of sight made his sense of touch more sensitive, and the hold of his own hand was decadent. 

He pressed against the cold tiles, rolling his hips up into his grip. Since he was having a moment of weakness, he allowed himself to give over to it fully. To recall the dream, the fantasy of Gladio above him, deep eyes looking into his own. Groans escaped his lips as the pleasure ebbed and crested. “Gladiolus,” he let himself gasp, as the pleasure overcame him and he spilled into his fist. 

He rinsed himself clean and turned the water off. He froze as he heard a knock on the door. 

“Ignis?” Gladio’s voice came through the broken wood. 

Ignis realised with horror he didn’t hear him approach, nor did he know what colour the shower curtain was. How opaque it was. 

He cleared his throat, fumbling for his towel. “Gladio,” he answered. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” he eased the door open and stepped inside. As Gladio emptied his bladder from overnight, Ignis dried himself off and started to dress. 

Gladio was washing his hands as Ignis reached for his shirt. “Hey,” he interrupted. “Want me to give you a shave?”

“Your pardon?” Ignis asked, startled. 

“I just…” Gladio paused. “I know you used to hate not being clean shaven. You started shaving at fourteen to avoid it. So I thought I’d offer. I can’t find your missing buttons, but I can help with this.”

Ignis was silent, turning his head in Gladio’s direction. He wished he could see him. Judge his expression, figure out his motives. “If this is some kind of pity, Gladio…”

The Shield sighed in frustration. “Is it so bad for me to want to help you, Iggy? Why you gotta look at it like it’s something bad?”

“I’m not _looking at it_ at all,” Ignis deadpanned. Gladio gave a sharp inhale — but Ignis spoke again before he could reply: “I would appreciate it. Thank you, Gladio.”

It was terrifyingly intimate. It wasn’t a straight razor, like he used to prefer, just a disposable razor from the ones Gladio used to use to shape his stubble. But it was still intimidating. To have his neck bared for another person to scrape smooth. He tried to hold still, but it was hard when he couldn’t see, could remember the sting of his own failed attempts at shaving blind. 

But Gladio was gentle, careful with the razor and soft with a cloth to wipe away excess lather. Afterward, he patted aftershave into Iggy’s cheeks. “Feels better?” He asked softly. 

“...yes,” Ignis said quietly. “Thank you, Gladio.”

“Yeah.” An odd silence spread between them. It wasn’t quite as uncomfortable as their silences usually were — but there was a tension between them. He couldn’t read it. He wished, yet again, that he could see Gladio, read his face. “Uh. Can I shower?”

“Yes. Of course. You can use my toiletries, if you don’t have those of your own.”

“Is there… something to block the door?” The Shield asked awkwardly. “You can see right in.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he answered. “I suppose there’s some way to block the view with your towel or clothing? But that’s something you’ll have to work out on your own.” He unfolded the spectacles with the dark lenses that hid the worst of the damage about his eyes, and slid them onto his face. “But nobody wakes until 6 anyway, so you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Iggy.”

He inclined his head in response to Gladio’s gratitude, and then walked the ten steps back to his attic. 

  


Gladio did not stay for more than a day, before he was called away by Iris to join a task force to take care of an infestation between Longwythe and Galdin. He said he would return soon. 

Ignis did not hold out hope for it. 

He settled into his new building. He learned the dimensions by steps, how to get around with ease. He needn’t even take his cane out when he planned to stay within the property. 

Once his home was memorised, he began to venture himself out into the city. There was a collection of Kingsglaives gathered about the main square, working with Holly to gather meteor shards, take out daemons, and escort vans of supplies back and forth across the country. It was nice to hear their work, though it began to make him feel more and more useless. 

By the time Gladio did return, he was resolved. He had Holly ask him to come to his apartment once he returned. And then in afternoon, the ladder creaked open. 

Ignis was meditating, was pleased with himself for hearing the heavy footsteps before the sound of the ladder. 

“Hey,” Gladio greeted. “Sorry. I meant to come sooner. But after Longwythe, I had to go up to the Norduscaen Blockade to—”

“You needn’t explain, Gladio,” he interrupted calmly. “I’ve been speaking with Holly and the ‘Glaives. I understand the situation out there.” He rose to his feet. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

“Anything, Iggy,” Gladio said, sounding confused by his comment. 

“I want you to teach me how to fight.”

The Shield made a quiet noise of disbelief. “You what?”

He raised his chin, if he could he would look Gladio right in the eyes. “I will not stay here to wither away, to be useless to Noct by the time he returns. I cannot fight as I am, I am a hindrance more than a help. So I must learn anew, and I am asking you to teach me.”

“Ignis,” Gladio said carefully, his voice a low growl. “You don’t know what it’s like out there. It’s too dangerous.”

“I am not wholly ignorant of the dangers,” he argued. “I listen to the stories. They’re calling it a world of ruin — eternal darkness.” He raised his chin defiantly. “If anything, I am more used to the darkness than any of you are.”

Gladio inhaled angrily through his nose. Ignis suspected he was bunching his hands into fists. If he was truly agitated, the muscle in his forehead might be ticking. “And if I say no?”

He stepped forward and prodded him in the chest firmly. “I have patience, Gladiolus. But also tenacity. I will be out there again, fighting to protect my kingdom. So you can either help me, teach me how to fight again, or I can learn it myself.”

“You’re determined,” the Shield said, his voice low and stony. “Nothing I can say will change your mind?”

“Not a thing. So will you help me, or not?”

Gladio took a deep breath, sighed it out, and another breath in. Ignis could feel his eyes, the hardness of his gaze. “It’s not gonna be easy. You’ll have to give everything over to me — trust every part of yourself into my hands. Can you do that?”

“Can you handle it?” Ignis challenged in return. 

“Give me your weapons then.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“All of them. Out of the armiger. Now.”

“You expect me to live _unarmed_ —”

“Yes,” Gladio interrupted, his voice hard as steel. “We have to break you down and teach you everything again. And we can’t do that, if you’re still clinging to the old ways.”

He swallowed. He didn’t expect this part to be painful. The lances were simple — pressed into Gladio’s outstretched palm one at a time. Most of the daggers, too. But then he hesitated, his voice catching as he felt for the last ones.

“Ignis,” the Shield warned, his voice hard. “All of them, I said.”

His hands trembled as he summoned his Spelldaggers, clenching his fists tightly around the handles. “...King Regis gave these to me,” he said, his voice breaking. “They were a birthday gift.”

Gladio’s hands were gentle — but unrelenting as he took them away and banished them into the aether. “You’ll get them back, Iggy,” he promised, his voice soft. “But only when I think you’re ready.”

He nodded, but everything felt too heavy. Too much. He wanted to crawl into his bed and give up all over again. 

He startled when he felt Gladio’s arms enfolding around him, pulling him close until he rested against the broad, bared chest. “I know that was hard, Ignis,” he said at a whisper. “But I’m doing this for you. If you wanna quit, I’ll give them back to you. When I think you’re ready, I’ll give them back. It’s just temporary, okay? While you’re learning again.”

He nodded into his chest. He couldn’t cry any more, his tear ducts too badly damaged by the ring. Instead he just stood in Gladio’s arms and trembled until he felt okay again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Readers: so fucking mad at Iggy for what he did   
> Me and Gladio: HE WAS SIXTEEN. LET IGGY BE HAPPY LIKE HE DESERVES. 
> 
> (The salt is strong about everyone thinking he doesn’t deserve a fix it or redemption arc for being a bratty teenager learning to make his own mistakes. Gladnis for life, they’re gonna be happy or die trying! LOL)
> 
> ((Just kidding I love you all))


End file.
